“Thanks,” Val said. “I owe you one.”
She pointed a finger, looking him in the eye. “And I may collect soon.” She paused, as if reconsidering. “Oh, never mind.”
He wondered what she’d been going to say. Did it have something to do with Twyla? Was she okay after last night? He didn’t mention her daughter, though. This was work. Best keep it that way. “Can Payton make another connection?”
“Of course. If someone is determined to call upon the Dark Realm, they will. That’s part of the reason we exile them to another dimension. They can’t affect us from there.”
“Then it befits us to wrap up this investigation and send him on his way.”
* * *
Twyla let the soil run between her fingers. She felt the need to dance with the earth today, tossing handfuls of dirt haphazardly into clay pots as she turned and swirled to the rhythm she heard in her head. She’d exceeded expectations last night in her fight against the demons. She’d been shocked by her power and how alive it had made her feel.
Today, the magnificent sensations of manipulating the forces remained with her. Never in her life had she experienced such a deep calling. She longed to share her discovery with Val, but he hadn’t come to see her. Where was he? What was he doing? His absence filled her with doubts. Had his job overridden their relationship again?
Uncertain, she turned to the thing she knew best, the earth and growing plants. Finishing her dance, she calmed herself as she turned her face up to the sun’s warmth. It was time to plant the watermelon seedlings she’d started in the greenhouse a month or so ago.
She loaded the wheelbarrow and set off to the planned raised plot at the far end of the garden. As she knelt, dug small holes, set the plants, and watered them in, her usual sense of pleasure nudged upward like an opening sunflower. Determined that she wouldn’t allow anyone to take control of her happiness, she finished planting the entire watermelon plot.
As she stood to admire her progress, she noticed someone approaching. An instant memory of Ethan kidnapping her surfaced, and she felt a wave of distress, but she shoved it away. No, she squinted. She recognized that swagger, even from this distance. It was Val. Her heart swelled and began to race.
Golden rays of sunlight spilled over Twyla’s hair, reflecting its ink black silkiness. As he approached, Val wanted to unravel the ties and let the strands fall about her shoulders. She looked gorgeous in her jeans and tan T-shirt that read 100% natural beauty.
He had sulked for two days, contemplating if he’d made the wrong decisions regarding Payton. Should he have even taken the vampire out of his cell to begin with? Had he gotten too involved with Twyla and had that clouded his judgement? Finally, he came to the conclusion that it didn’t matter. He had chased her away before because of some misplaced notion that his job defined him and his sense of duty was foremost in his life.
Then he realized Twyla was the only thing that mattered. And he could handle duty and love. It wasn’t an either-or situation.
He swung the picnic basket as he approached. She tossed her head back, shading her eyes. “I thought you might be hungry,” he said.
“I am. I didn’t eat breakfast.”
He took hold of her hand and led her over under the shade of a tree. Dragging her up against him with one arm, he kissed her long and hard.
A raspy breath escaped her lips when he released her. “I thought you were pushing me away again,” she whispered.
He lifted a shoulder, still holding on to her. “I’m hardheaded sometimes, but I eventually come around. Besides, I love you, Twyla. I’ve been fighting it for a long time, but I can assure you, I love you more than anything—including my job.”
She smiled, her eyes glowing. “I never asked you to give up your job.”
“I know. It was me. All me.”
She leaned in, kissing him and threading her hands into his hair. When the kiss ended, she asked, “Are you going to put that basket down?”
“I am. I packed it myself with all your favorite things. I even picked up graveyard greens from Beauty and the Beast.”
She gave a mock inhale. “That proves it, you must love me. And…I love you, my dragon. More than the earth itself.”
He spread a blanket over the ground and eased her down onto it. He wasn’t hungry at all for food—just for Twyla. Only her.
Val escorted Twyla into the sheriff’s office. Trevor had his feet propped on the desk. He sat, his Nikes hitting the floor with a kerplop. It had been three weeks since the incidence with the demons. Each day, Val expected something else to happen. Nothing did.
“Hi Twyla…sheriff,” Trevor said as he smoothed his hair back with a hand.
Twyla waved her fingers.
“How’s it going?” Val asked.
“About the usual.”
“Good.” Val took his badge off and handed it to Trevor. “I’m going out of town for a week or so and leaving you as acting sheriff.”
Trevor opened his mouth, shocked, and then closed it. “Do you think that’s wise? You know….”
“Terror is forever at risk. It’s the nature of the town. But you can handle it.”
Nodding, Trevor stood. “All right, then. Don’t you worry about a thing.” His gaze shot from Twyla to Val with a sly grin. “Just have yourselves a good time. You deserve it.”
“Thanks. I have some catching up to do.” Val kissed Twyla’s brow, then her cheek. He'd never get enough of her. He'd bought an engagment ring last week when he'd traveled to St. Paul. While they were away, he intended to ask her to marry him.
The pair headied for the door when Trevor stopped them. “Hey, where are you going?” the acting sheriff asked.
Val smiled, looking at Twyla. “It’s a secret.”
Thanks for Reading
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NEWSLETTER
Dear Reader,
I have a new book coming out soon.
The first book of a new trilogy will be released this fall titled, PERFECTION. It was a 2013 Golden Heart finalist and is “the book of my heart” as they say in the world of writing. Finally, the time is right to share this story.
My son was the inspiration for PERFECTION. He was born with a genetic abnormality of extra X chromosomes, and I always wondered what it would be like if and when genetic engineering advanced to the point where these sort of abnormalities could be “fixed.”
PERFECTION is a story set in the future where a genetically engineered scientist, GEI, falls in love with a Coder, a person with an ancient genetic makeup. They have to work together while solving a murder.
PERFECTION is a futuristic thriller. It perhaps has the feel of JD Robb’s books. I hope you will enjoy the world building and magical elements of this world.
Read on for a sneak peek of Perfection.
Excerpt from
Perfection
by Larissa Emerald
Chapter One
May 1, 2126
In a proficient machination of gears and balance, the robotic waitress slid breakfast onto the table, then rolled away from the booth. Eggs, spinach, buffalo sausage, coffee…his usual. York Richmond encircled the steaming cup of cloned Columbian with his fingers, forgoing the undersized handle, and drew it to his lips. Vapor along with the familiar aroma awakened his sinuses. He longed for it to nudge his brain and his muscles.
“Rough night, huh?” Detective Vivian Lester sat opposite him and lined silverware up from left to right before selecting the spoon.
He shrugged at the understatement. “Need to change families for a month or so, s’all.”
“Guess it’s kind of weird to arrest your mom.”
“Well, you know Mom. Queen of protests.”
“Hey, there’s an antiquities sale tomorrow. Want to go?�
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He set aside the coffee, hit the eggs with equal shots of Tabasco and mustard, and dug in. If Vee felt compelled to change the subject and divert his attention to his hobby, then his mug must seriously be a sorry sight. His mouth edged into a reluctant smile in spite of how tired he felt. “I’m good.”
“Really?”
“Besides, technically, I didn’t arrest her, just ensured she wasn’t newsworthy.” He stabbed a hunk of sausage, peeled the utensil between his teeth, leaving the meat behind, and peered at her across the table, raising a single brow.
With a contrite nod, she turned her attention to her French toast.
He was finished with her treating him like a keepsake Christmas ornament. Ever since Danny–
No, he put the brakes on that thought and thumbed his spot computer, searching the Chicago headlines for any sign of Amanda Richmond in the news. Nothing. Good for you, Mom. “So, you want to go chumming around with me tomorrow, eh?”
Vee rolled her eyes.
He half chuckled.
An announcement sent via InSIGHT overrode his Internet search and shocked the amused grin right off his face. The forkful of Tabasco-laced eggs he’d been eager to consume a millisecond earlier didn’t make it into his mouth. He lowered his arm, the fork clinking against plastic. The smoked buffalo he was chewing turned bland and grainy, like eating sand. The food scraped going down. “What the hell?”
“What? Not your mom?”
“No.” He read the accompanying post aloud in disbelief. His appetite shriveled with every syllable. “Two-year-old Isabelle D-Gastion is dead.”
Vee gasped. “That’s impossible. She’s GEI.”
“Right, and genetically engineered individuals don’t die.” York thumbed the valet button on his air-car’s auto-control, slipped from the booth, and stood. His tone grim, he said, “If I’ve learned anything in the last few years, it’s that there’s a first for everything. And given that she’s the daughter of the World Health Organization’s Director General, well, this can’t be an accident.”
Poor innocent Isabelle. A heavy hand pressed over his heart.
As they exited the diner, an order came in by way of a vocal emergency statement instructing them to report to the scene. Good thing, considering he was heading there anyway. The girl’s father, B-Gastion, was a friend, albeit they were an odd match.
Daylight had broken, though from here the sun was concealed behind skyscrapers. His air-car pulled to the curb, and they got in. He tapped the ignition button, adjusted the thrusters for vertical assent, and launched. Updated memos flashed every few minutes over a larger nucleus screen set in the console. He’d received three notices by the time he’d piloted from midtown to the Gastion home set in a swanky Chicago suburb along the lake.
* * *
“Hand it over, angel,” Kindra B-Zaika said with a gentle tone meant to coax her child.
“No.”
Stunned by her daughter’s uncharacteristic explosive outburst, she inhaled a calming breath.
“I want it to open noooow,” Brianna wailed, drawing the final word into a quivering, nerve-scraping bleat.
Kindra touched cool fingers to her brow and glanced out the living-room panel of windows to discover dawn tiptoeing over the city. A streak of air traffic blazed in the distance, weaving between skyscrapers. People were on the move. But here she was, stonewalled by a two-year-old.
Her daughter held the potted sunflower outstretched between small hands. Her eyes glistened as blue irises disappeared into rich brown outer rims. A tell-tale sign of how upset she was.
“The flower has a growth cycle. It’s not time for it to bloom,” Kindra explained.
Brianna thrust out her lower lip, then pitched the uncooperative plant to the floor. Kindra sighed as she watched the ensuing melodrama of flailing arms and legs. What was happening to her sweet little girl? Such out-of-control behavior was a first. In fact, D generation was bred to be even tempered. More than a bit worried, Kindra folded her hands and touched a knuckle to her lips, reluctant to play the waiting game. But what else could she do?
It’ll pass.
She had a gazillion things on her overloaded agenda. Just the thought of the controversial report to the genetics committee first thing when she got to the office made her shudder. Nausea roiled in her stomach. She needed quiet. She needed solitude. She needed to rehearse her pitch.
“Fifteen minutes,” Nanny Sally advised, entering the room.
“Yes, I know,” Kindra said to the android nanny who ticked off five-minute increments in an effort to get Kindra to work on time. Fooltar. She could do without the nanny’s annoying programming this morning.
Near the electric-blue sofa, Kindra knelt beside her daughter. A thrashing foot clipped her shin, snagging her leggings. She winced, then stroked Brianna’s forehead. Be calm, please. “Angel, you can’t make the flower bloom just because you want it to.”
With several hiccups, Brianna made an effort to control her crying.
Kindra collected the pot, replaced a handful of lost soil, and set it upright on the floor. She settled cross-legged next to the plant and spied the gel-book sitting on the end-table. Perhaps a pretend flower would do in the interim. She extended her hand, concentrated, and with a flare of psychokinesis summoned the book to her.
Brianna stilled and peered at her mother. She sniffed back tears with sudden interest.
Kindra smothered a thankful sigh. Distraction. Perfect. She skipped her fingers over the g-book, igniting the electronic images until she accessed the file she wanted of a flower. “What color would you like it to be?”
“Yellow. Intense yellow.”
Intense, of course. Brianna’s word of the week. Last week it was activate. A rush of pride swelled in Kindra at her daughter’s advanced intelligence. All children of generation D were geniuses, as mandated by The Committee. They would be attending university at age nine. She sighed…such potential.
With another swirl of a finger, a vibrant sunflower popped from the page, creating a 3-D image. “This will have to do until I get home this evening.”
“But it’s May Day. I wanted to give you a real flower.”
Downy warmth caressed Kindra, soul deep. “Well, I appreciate that. But some things can’t be rushed.” She smiled, regretting she had to leave for work. The urge to stay home tempted her. “Come here.” She patted her leg, inviting Brianna to sit on her lap.
Her little girl scooted over, sniffled again, then snuggled closer, surveying the wounded plant. Kindra caressed her sweet oval face and smoothed silky strands of blonde hair away from eyes that were gradually returning to their lively crystal blue. Like mother, like daughter. Sensitive, intuitive, demanding. She smiled, amazed at how a genetically engineered generation, one far superior to her own B Series, could be created with such scientific precision yet remain defined by age emotionally.
“I’ll bring a fresh blooming flower home with me when I return from work. Okay? This one”—she tamped the soil firmly around the stem—“will take a few days to open.”
Brianna brightened and tilted her head with an impish nod. “Not a cloned one.”
Where do kids learn these things? “I’ll do my best.” She wrapped her arms around Brianna and breathed deeply—the simple essence of youth. When had this child she’d rescued from the embryo discard bin come to mean so much? Kindra’s heart filled with love, aching in its intensity. Had her own mother ever cared for her this way?
Doesn’t matter. She shook her head as Brianna wiggled out of her arms. Ready to play, her child swept up a Global Doll from where she’d left it on a nearby chair.
Kindra stood. “How about if you and Cloe accomplish a unity session? It will help you center yourself.”
Brianna ignored her and headed down the hall without looking back. “Can’t,” she said before disappearing through her bedroom door.
Kindra’s breath snagged in her throat. She frowned. Brianna had never refused the spiritual exercise.
A warning signal tripped. Another odd occurrence?
With the usual rigid posture and head tilt which didn’t alter a single dark hair, Nanny Sally held out a computer key. “Time to go.”
Fingers curling around the key, Kindra ripped her attention from her daughter. “Call me if she gets upset again.”
“I will. Don’t forget that my updated replacement arrives tomorrow.”
“Yes. I have it on my system,” she said absently, grabbing her satchel from the foyer table. As she closed the door behind her, Kindra couldn’t shake a mother’s intuition that something bigger was wrong with Brianna.
Chapter Two
York parked as he had in past visits, alongside B-Gastion’s Air-Porsche on the second floor of the landing garage.
“You’re going to get in trouble parking here,” Vee complained, but kept up with him as he got out of the car.
“Maybe.”
They didn’t speak as they navigated the stairs to a private access. Halfway up the walkway framed with manicured low hedges, he noted the gathering crowd as other vehicles filled the street. “Damn. Every reporter in town must have intercepted the stream.”
“Better here than at your mom’s arrest. Benefited her sit, don’t you think?”
“Nah, too much time lapse. Just a lucky break earlier.” But this morning had been too easy. Coincidence? The media types trolled for headlines, and they had the money to support their efforts. Of course, GEI were far too interested in what was happening in their own inner circles to invest much effort in the imperfect world of Coders. But…
Forever At Risk: Terror, MN Page 8